


You Shine Bright like the Starry Night

by 1117



Series: You Were There Among All Stars [2]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Author Assistant Kim Hongjoong, Confusion, Flashbacks, Hearing Voices, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Recovered Memories, Writer Park Seonghwa, god idk how to tag, thats me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28821552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1117/pseuds/1117
Summary: There was a voice.It lingered in his mind for years, yet, the young writer couldn't recognize who did it belong to.It was an unfamiliar voice.But oh, so familiar. . .Who was it?
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Series: You Were There Among All Stars [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113101
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	You Shine Bright like the Starry Night

**Author's Note:**

> i said in the previous au that you can imagine their future as you wish but guess what? i lied oops.
> 
> initially, i wrote this for my friend (skjinxin) under a c-drama fandom, but it also relates to this setting plot so i edited a few things and made it seongjoong just for this series. you can check the original in my works if you want (it looks almost exactly the same tbh, u don't have to) :>  
> i suggest that if you want to understand some context here, go to the first part first bc this is a sort of continuation of the first story, but if u don't wanna that's fine. u can try reading this as a stand-alone (and get a bit confused XD).
> 
> _p.s: recommend using dark site skin for the aesthetic purpose :D_
> 
> happy reading!

\- For background reading music. :>

⋆⋆⋆

t wasn’t the first time that this happened.

Ever since Seonghwa turned twenty, the voice had lingered in his mind every moment possible.

In his sleep, in his studio, at his parent’s house, or even when he drove his car.

To be frank, it was mainly when he drove the car.

At first, he assumed that he was just tired. Maybe from the lack of sleep that skipped through the all-nighters that the man pulled from his ass just to choke down on the load of work. Work that can potentially send him straight to the hospital.

Wooyoung said he worked too hard sometimes.

Maybe he said that many times, Seonghwa couldn't remember.

But there was something that bothered him. The voice was counting down. The first time he had heard it, it was on number one-hundred.

And every two or three days, the number would still be subtracted by one.

It took him a while to recognize, before that, though, Seonghwa blamed it on his insomnia and sleep deprivation.

His occupation required an improper timeline, and he had no way to stop. There were deadlines every two weeks, and he could only push all his strength to finish his drafts before the due date was met. 

Being a writer was as hard as that; to neglect the chance of having any writer’s block, Seonghwa had to focus on his work every day. As if once the man ever skipped one single second for being unproductive, he would be distracted and falling deep into something unexplainable; a loss of pace in his creation.

He had trouble sleeping. The eyebags were slowly becoming darker.

It was worrisome, acknowledging such a compelling attraction that he never got to figure out its forces, and sometimes, he would fall into it like a victim. Yet, with a human instinct, in full-geared needs of survival, Seonghwa’s mind had never allowed him to be distracted for too long.

He was glad when he could snap himself back fast enough. 

Sometimes, when he stopped working and closed his eyes, Seonghwa would see unfamiliar scenarios flashing back in his mind.

He knew it was an unhealthy mindset when it came to overwork himself; it wasn’t safe for his health, mentally and physically. But he couldn’t help it. It was frustrating and disappointing to see himself continually falling over this pattern. But overworking had been adapted as a part of his lifestyle. He just couldn’t help it. There were times Seonghwa would drive crazy if he didn’t stop working for one bit, and he knew it was his fault to blame.

But as frustrating as it was, he couldn’t stand dealing with images that he was a stranger with, pictures that recalled things he had no memory of; a cold place, dark and colossal, yet majestic with sparkles of light. And it scared him.

However, he knew he would have to rest before falling on his work desk and perhaps woke up at a hospital ward unknowingly. 

But actions were stronger than words, and habits couldn’t always be fixed in a day or two. They have ingrained in his blood.

So, he began to adapt to it.

He didn’t dare to make himself fall asleep.

Yet this voice.

The sweet, light vocal that he had been listening to kept wavering in his head no matter where he was or what he did at a time.

The tender voice had reminded him to rest, take care of himself, look over his health, and remember the wrong and right to be too passionate for his work.

And it raised questions, too many questions.

It was a strange voice coming from his head, not from someone besides him.

At least, not someone he knew.

But for some reason, he noticed this voice. He knew it. He tried to meet up with all the people he had seen, perhaps passing by those he would generally meet at his workplace. But the jet black-haired is at square one; clueless about this light, gentle voice; he would faintly hear once every two days driving.

It was a familiar voice.

Regardless, as if a giant earthworm had chewed a large part inside his memory.

He couldn’t remember whose voice it belonged to. 

He just couldn’t.

* * *

The forecast said there would be snow today, and the man walked to his car. Holding on an umbrella, he let it lean over the passenger seat before settling inside.

Starting on the engine, Seonghwa turned on the heater.

As he moved from the garage, pressing the pedal and heading to work, he heard that same strange sound.

_Here it goes._ Seonghwa nodded in his head, noticing the soft voice drawing him in again.

_Seonghwa, rest,_ it said. Then a moment after, it counted again.

_Twelve._

It sounded far away, unreachable. 

Yet, too close and too _intimate._

The moment Seonghwa tried to detect where it came from, it faded, replacing the dark atmosphere with a heavy emptiness. Then proceeded to boom through the air like feathers, slowly falling down the black inking night like the first snow of November.

He wanted to reach it. Approaching the unknown voice that was overall too familiar, to begin with, until he lost himself and forgot where he stood in the first place.

Seonghwa didn’t understand what was happening to him.

But then he didn’t mind about it.

He just wanted to know who this person was.

The mysterious figure had been hiding inside his head for ages that even the man couldn’t count the times it had appeared using his fingertips.

It had been five years. 

Sometimes, the sounds weren’t understandable, imprecise words or incomplete sentences. But sometimes, there were messages, reminders, and _questions._

_“How have you been?”_

_“Do you still remember me?”_

_“If I return, will you leave me again?”_

_“I have so many things to tell you, but are you willing to listen?”_

Surely, these questions were strange. But they were there. And they were _something_.

He just couldn’t figure what they were.

Then one day, the voice finally ended, and the counting had stopped. Seonghwa didn't even realize a month had passed ever since the number twelve.

_One._

It was a cold morning. The sky was hazy, and the snow was thickened enough to shrink in. The white layer formed softly by his shoes’ flatforms when he walked toward his workplace, and the weight left large footsteps behind his every move.

Seonghwa whistled as he held on the blue umbrella, the snow fell softly, and he marched toward the building with lazy steps. He didn’t have to go to the company, considering that he could always work at home. But the director had called him two days ago. 

A new intern was applying for the author assistant position in their department, and Director Choi had requested him to meet up with them.

“Seonghwa-ssi, I can tell how busy you have been lately. Just look at your eyes; those bags could swallow all your face one day. This new intern should be able to help you a little with the work. And as much as I appreciate your diligent routine of turning the drafts on time, you have to look at yourself more.” His boss said, his voice was dripping with worries. And Seonghwa knew he couldn’t deny the offer.

He knew Director Choi was right.

He did need an assistant, especially now when his books have become more known and his readers had anticipated more stories. So, in the end, after hours of refusal, Seonghwa defeatedly agreed to attend the meeting, partly for the assisting part and Director Choi's naggings, but also because he needed to interact more outside of his bubble. At least with someone else besides Wooyoung, his co-worker, and Yeosang, his editor.

On his way there, Seonghwa worried that he must have left the intern waiting (he was about five minutes late), but he had no will to walk fast even if he wanted to. The poor writer only slept for three hours yesterday, and he was exhausted. So despite being unprofessional for that, the man couldn’t muster the strength to be organized. Seonghwa almost reached the glass doors, preparing to push it, until a figure bumped into him.

The young man flusteredly bowed, apologies left his mouth like chants despite the folder he held earlier had dropped and splattered all over the floor.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he shyly kneeled, picking the papers hurriedly, not looking up at Seonghwa, who was planning to help. Then he ran away.

Seonghwa was taken aback by the action, but he couldn't stop him, and before he could even utter a word, the young man had already disappeared from his sight. He stood still, confused by the rush, but shrugged nonetheless by the stranger until he looked down and noticed an object on the floor.

It was a hand size, white-sand hourglass with a golden frame on it. Simple yet elegant.

Seonghwa picked it up, questioning. The moment he made contact, a familiar impression remained on his palm. The writer had looked at the item, suddenly feeling sentimental, as if he had seen it before. But regardless of the time he tried to recall, nothing would come up. He looked at the hourglass for a while, immersing inside his thoughts, until he snapped his head, remembering where he stood.

He still had to meet up with the intern.

Seonghwa almost forgot about it.

This hourglass must have belonged to the stranger from earlier; Seonghwa made notes to give it to him later if he ever reencountered the young man in the hallway. If not, he could turn it into the Lost & Found department, and the guy could search for it from there.

He jogged to the elevator, feeling even more sorry for the assistant now, having to wait for his tardiness. He hoped that they would accept him as his helper after today. For a fact, he needed someone to arrange his work schedule before he drove himself insane.

However, as he opened the conference room, the same figure had sat on one of the chairs, fiddling nervously with his fingers. He instantly shot up from his seat, bowing at the older man. Seonghwa stopped his tracks, too surprised to close the door properly. 

Seonghwa didn’t expect to see the young man again so soon. 

“You.” He looked at him, his hand still held on the hourglass. “We met earlier.” He spoke, perpetually amazed by the recognizable appearance. Then he speculated silently.

_Have I seen him before?_

_He looked familiar, too familiar._

But he couldn’t tell who he was.

The young man nervously replied, “H-hello Park Seonghwa-nim, I didn’t know it was you. I’m sorry for crashing into you at the entrance. I recently applied to be an author assistant a few weeks ago, and Director Choi had told me to go here to meet up with an assigned writer.” he pushed his folder toward him, where Seonghwa had regained his senses enough to step inside the room, settled down at the nearest chair.

It seemed like the said assigned writer was him, Seonghwa considered the words, looking down at the internship profile.

Kim Hongjoong.

His name was Kim Hongjoong.

It was so foreign—everything about the young man. But at the same time, it was so personal… So familiar.

It felt like he had heard this name so many times it now had been tattooed inside his brain.

He looked at the young intern this time, mumbling out the name like a reminder.

“Kim Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong glanced up at the sound, his big, shiny eyes stared back at him as if he recognized the voice, and they sat there, looking into one another’s eyes like they had lost in a trance. Seonghwa felt like he had known this person for a long time, and they were returning, revising a scenario that once happened before.

A moment passed by, when he looked at the man long enough to remember that they still needed to talk about the purpose of this meeting, Seonghwa coughed, awkwardly steering his gaze away. Hongjoong stopped looking at him at the same time.

“About the job, you are welcome to be my assistant, I’ve been getting quite busy these months, and there were too many tasks for me to keep up. If you can, please help me with putting them together and help me revise some of the works that I’ve written whenever I forgot what the plot was about. Is that alright?” Hongjoong slowly nodded. 

After that, they talked for a little longer, where Hongjoong began to ask him a few questions about his jobs, and Seonghwa politely responded to every one of them. Soon, the meeting ended.

“That’s all for now, and if there are more tasks in the future, I will let you know.” The man said. Words were rolling out from his tongue gently as he stood up. Before he walked out of the room, however, he remembered something.

“Ah, I forgot, you have dropped something earlier, and I still need to return it.” Pulling from the coat that he was wearing, the golden frame peeked out from his palm, and Seonghwa tenderly put it in Hongjoong’s hand. “T-thank you,” he said, carefully taking the hourglass. 

Their skin briefly touched, but Seonghwa retracted his hand fast enough so it wouldn’t feel too sheepish. The man was anxious at every movement he made. He threw a shy smile, then nodded at the younger man. “Nice to be working with you.” and Hongjoong smiled back at him, appearing to be on the same stage as him. “Please take care of me,” he said, bowing to him with the hourglass tightening in his hand. 

“Pleasure,” he beamed, “I should get going now.” And Hongjoong nodded in understanding.

Seonghwa walked out of the room, feeling dreadful.

Something was holding him back from leaving, and he caught a small reaching gesture from the young man, who seemed to hesitate about something as his back barely turned against the latter, but he didn’t comment on it. By the time he was already out of the building. The feeling still lingered, and Seonghwa furrowed his brows confusedly. 

It was still snowing outside.

He walked on the pathway, and one hand touched on the side of his heart. The other one held tightly on the blue umbrella that he brought.

For some reason, he felt unhappy.

But he didn’t know why and what was making him sad.

He dismissed it.

With an empty sentiment in his chest, Seonghwa kept walking, ignoring the glances from the people passing by him, glaring at the hand where he put on his heart. He couldn’t understand it, but something was nagging at him, yelling at him to turn around, as if he was missing an opportunity, and he would regret it if he didn’t listen to his heart.

The man thought it was unusual, but he resisted the sensation.

He slowly paced toward his car, where it parked at the lot a few walks away from the building, feeling more intense the more he stepped away from his workplace. Nevertheless, he didn’t turn around.

He walked and walked until it got too bothersome to ignore the aching impression in his chest.

For a minute, it was painful to gasp. Seonghwa finally halted to breathe.

He did not turn around.

From far away, the writer heard the stuffing noise of footsteps heading straight in his direction. Then ceased a few meters away from him, and he froze, remaining still. There were breathing sounds and a small relief exhale once the figure caught up with his pace.

It took a while for the person to speak up, but once their voice echoed through the cold air, Seonghwa’s heart stopped its vibrations, and he dropped his hand from where he had clenched. For a moment, all of the strange flashbacks have returned full-force, and they began to make more sense than they have been before.

Unexpectedly, it came to be clear: As every memory disclosed like rose petals before a warm bath, the man gradually remembered each of them like the back of his hand. He felt strangled at the recollections and was overwhelmed.

However, it was a good kind of overwhelming.

“Seonghwa.” Hongjoong breathed. His voice was soothing, like the current blowing wind.

He recognized this voice. It was the same voice that echoed in his head all these years.

This time, the man finally turned, facing him.

“I miss you.”

⋆⋆⋆

**Author's Note:**

> im such a vibe-killer for leaving this cliffhanger here hhh.
> 
> tysm for reading <3


End file.
